


He calls her "Baby"

by Blu_dahlia



Series: What's in a name? [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu_dahlia/pseuds/Blu_dahlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a series looking at different words/names Stiles and Lydia use for each other. </p>
<p>Instances where Stiles calls Lydia "Baby" and what it means to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So originally this was going to be one story with a different name/word for each chapter but as I came up with more and more "instances", I realized the chapters were going to end up rather hefty. So I decided to break it up. All of the chapters in this story will focus on "Baby". 
> 
> I don't have anyone proofing my stuff right now so hopefully it's not too rough. (I did decide to change tenses midway through writing this so I think I got it all straightened out but feel free to let me know if you catch something I missed.) Still feeling an odd combination of rusty at writing, and new to it if that makes sense so I would love to hear your feedback. Good or bad, I'm always trying to improve! Thanks!

He calls her “Baby”. He doesn’t do it on purpose, hell it’s hardly even a conscious decision. He can’t help it; Lydia is scared and vulnerable and turning to him and that is his body, mind, and soul’s natural response. It may not have been out loud, but Stiles is starting to realize maybe he’d been saying it in his head for a while.

(On the lacrosse field, the first time he’d seen her look anything but powerful. “Please don’t die Lydia…hold on, Baby. Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”)

(Huddled in police station sweats and drowning in his father’s jacket, fresh off of an au naturale, two-day jaunt in the woods. She’d put her hand in his, he was too stunned to do anything but hold on for dear life. “Baby, you’re back. You’re gonna be okay. I’m sorry”)

(In the parking lot, when he sees her crying alone in her car. “Baby, I’m here, if you want. You look really beautiful when you cry.”)

(In his room, after the best moment he's had in what feels like forever came crashing down around him. He couldn't believe it when she showed up. And it had actually been going _well_. Until he blew it, of course. He hadn't meant to get so upset at her he just panicked. “Baby, I know this is hard to understand but I need you safe.")

(When her first love died in her arms. “I’m so sorry, Baby. You don’t deserve this.”)

(When she and Allison are the victims of deer suicide-by-Toyota. “Lydia! Are you hurt, Baby?”)

So Stiles really shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when the name passes his lips as he pulls her into his arms. He should be surprised, and is, that she lets him considering he essentially just yelled in her face (out of exasperation, not anger, but, still…) for calling the cops in a situation that to any normal person 100% warrants legal authorities. They are literally standing in a pool of blood next to a dead lifeguard. Quite frankly, it makes Stiles feel that he can't definitively rule out the possibility that some psycho out there Knows What They Did Last Summer and does not approve. It is this thought that reminds him that the current situation is scary. Probably especially so to Lydia, who, while certainly not a normal person, is still new to the whole supernatural thing and was apparently drawn here by forces that she, nor anyone else, actually understands. It’s a sobering thought, Lydia alone, scared, and not remembering how she got here. Of course she’s afraid. And he knows her well enough to know that the realization of the volume of her own ineptitude in her current surroundings is only increasing that fear exponentially. A knot of anxiety is forming in his stomach as he processes the danger she could have gotten herself into. So, he is incredibly grateful to get his arms wrapped tight around her, anchoring her as he whispers into her hair.

“Come here, Baby. It's okay. This is awful, but you’re okay.”

Stiles cringes when his brain catches up to his mouth (Damn you impulse control!) and registers what he had just said aloud. He stiffens, waiting for the awkwardness to set in. But nothing. Lydia didn’t acknowledge it at all. She held onto him until she had gotten herself together, kept her composure for the cops, and then demanded her car keys from him so she could drive home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one turned out to be more of a one-shot. An example more than a study, if you will. I think the series will probably contain a little of both. This one also ended up being mostly from Lydia's point of view, it just came out that way. I'm trying to stick to theme, but I also want to keep it organic.

It’s a couple weeks later when it happens again. She still doesn't acknowledge it.

They are on the bus outside the _lovely_ Glen Capri and they all still reek of gasoline. Lydia can’t sleep. She figures Stiles probably can’t either, or if he can, her mood dictates that she doesn’t actually care. So she flounces into the seat next to him with entirely too much bravado for 1:30 a.m. and she is sure he can see right through her to the aftershocks of absolute terror she is feeling inside. If he does, he is gracious enough to play along. This simultaneously soothes and infuriates Lydia. How dare he worm his way into being the most effectively comforting fixture in her life, just to turn around and risk it all on a glorified bait and switch designed to stop Scott from hurting himself. She’s glad Scott’s okay of course but Stiles’ complete lack of self-preservation was truly starting to piss her off.

“You can’t do that again. Ever.”

“Do what?”

“You know exactly what. That. That thing you do where you let your hero complex kick in and do something stupid before taking the time to think it through and find what will inevitably be a better plan. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Stiles barks out a wry laugh. “Scott has the hero complex, not me.”

“Oh really? Then what the hell is your excuse?”

He looks at his hands in his lap with his brows furrowed. “Lydia, I’m sorry but, it was Scott. What else could I do?”

She’s a little taken aback as she realizes that his question is rhetorical. Stiles does not expect her to have an answer because he honestly thinks there is not another solution besides throwing himself into the line of fire, literally in this case. He looks so worn down and troubled that Lydia starts to soften a little. He’s probably got enough to deal with already without her scolding him for trying to save his friend. She can’t help it though. There’s this tiny pang inside of her that is starting to _need_ him. But she certainly can’t tell him that. The slump in his shoulders and tension in his neck are making her question whether or not chastisement and/or threats are the answer, though. So she says,

“You’re not nothing either, you know.”

And it feels so weak. He probably doesn't even realize what she means. How his words to Scott had affected her, had broken her heart. Because, Scott didn't outright say it, and she's sure he didn't mean it, but for every point he made about how they were worthless before he changed, and how many problems arose after, he damned Stiles right along with himself. Stiles had corrected him immediately. Made it clear that Scott never was and never would be nothing. But Lydia thinks, or maybe she knows, that deep down in his darkest thoughts, Stiles believes _he_ is. That because he doesn't have super-human strength and because he can't stop himself from screwing up every once in a while, he doesn't matter. She wants to tell him he's wrong. She wants to tell him just how important he is to everyone, especially to her. But she doesn't know how, she's not that person yet. All she can say is,

"You're not nothing."

His gaze shifts up toward hers and his amber eyes flash with confusion, hope, and intensity. For a fleeting moment his eyes lock on her green ones as she feels tears threatening to spill over. Lydia is mesmerized. Just as quickly, the look in his eye is replaced with a rather tired, but recognizable glint.

“Does that mean I’m… _something_?”

The strawberry blonde turns away with a couple wet blinks, an eye roll and an “oh God”. Stiles just smirks and grabs her wrist and pulls her into him allowing her to hide her face in his chest. She wonders if he knows how grateful she is for the opportunity to finish regaining her composure in private. He holds her lightly for a minute and rests is cheek on the crown of her hair and whispers, “Thanks, Baby. I'm sorry.”

For a second, Stiles thinks he feels her breath hitch. But Lydia just lets out a sigh and pulls herself up to her full height and tells him, rather authoritatively,

“Just don’t be an idiot anymore.”

Then she turns on her heel and goes back to her place next to Allison. In the morning, they don’t talk about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter starts to touch on the main ideas and progression that inspired the wholes series. It's been really hard for me to get onto paper. Full disclosure, more than a little wine has been involved, so if it sucks or is riddled with mistakes, I apologize. Perhaps one day I will be a more evolved person who is emotionally available without alcohol. Anyway, enjoy.

“Baby.”

It keeps happening; it keeps coming out of him. When they find her, scared and alone and unsure of how she got there, the first thing he does is pull her into his chest. Arms around her body, chin resting on her head, he shields her from as much as he can.

“It’s okay, Baby. I’ve got you.”

And things only get worse. He spends all day with her, for once too preoccupied to be nervous and fumbling (he feels guilty later for even considering the notion of a positive to this day). They have to find Deaton, and Lydia is their best shot, whether she likes it or not. Morrell said so. Of course, Stiles doesn’t trust Morrell one bit, but it’s the only lead they’ve got. Not to mention that Lydia Martin being able to achieve something no mere mortal could makes complete sense to him. If he’d known that her price to pay for helping would be watching Boyd die, he might have done things differently. If he had known what would happen to Boyd, he would have tried to change things for all of them.

Surprisingly, after the initial shock has worn off, Stiles is the first one to spring into action. Gently directing Derek into whatever werewolf protocol the alpha sees fit, it is both painful and humbling to see how quickly Derek can change gears from utter devastation to duty-bound. For the millionth time it occurs to Stiles that the man has been through more than anyone should ever be asked to bear. Cora, of course, is right by his side. He asks Isaac to get Ms. Blake home. In the back of his mind he knows that at some point it will really hit him that his goddamn English teacher now knows about his “extracurricular activities”. That should be interesting.

Stiles checks everyone off his list, then he turns, and there’s Lydia.

She’s still standing, every hair his in place, her blouse is still tucked into her motherfucking perfectly short skirt. Her expression is impressively (alarmingly) neutral. Stiles is the son of a sheriff; he’s observational. So seeing that her face has no clues for him, he zeroes in on her knuckles. Clutching the doorway, they are ghostly white. His gaze travels down her body to her legs and ankles, which he notices are swaying and not at all solid. She’s trying to keep it together, he can see that, he can _feel_ that, but it’s not enough. Miraculously, in the same instant that Lydia’s hand slips and loses it’s grip, Stiles’ legs land right behind her and he is able to catch her around the waist and hold her up. Her chest is heaving and her mind is racing trying to process what just happened. She turns to him and her gaze is unfocused and unable to settle. Stiles doesn’t know how to fix that so he cups his hand around the back of her head and twists her around, pushing her face into his chest; hopefully giving her enough reprieve from the ghastly sights around them to come back to herself. Instinctually, Lydia understands what he’s doing and allows it, curling her freshly manicured nails into his shoulders anchoring herself to him, to her sense of touch, to reality. ( _Reality_. Which has fucking werewolves now.)

“It’s okay, Baby. I’ve got you. Just focus on me.”

And Lydia does. She focuses all her senses on Stiles in order to get them back on line again. She _sees_ soft, worn, flannel in front of her; she _feels_ the ever-broadening, surprisingly sturdy, planes of his chest; she _breathes_ in the scent of evergreen mints, library books, Old Spice, rubber, and warmth. (In the very far recesses of her mind, it registers that if she angled her head slightly, she could reach out and _taste_ the sheen of sweat from the hollows of his neck.) And she _hears_ ,

“I’m so sorry, Baby.”

Eventually, they make it to his car. Lydia is quiet and still, with perfect posture. Her defenses are settling into place again, and Stiles can see that. He accepts this, he’s almost glad for it. But he can’t help but wonder…

Did she even hear him? Does she know?

Quite frankly, he’s perfectly fine with it if she didn’t. They’re getting closer, they’re almost friends even. But he has no business calling her “Baby”. He just can’t help himself. But she hasn’t said anything about it. So he assumes that either she hasn’t realized (she definitely has), or she’s choosing not to acknowledge it (Bingo.).

Stiles is very okay with not acknowledging it. He’s okay with it because he knows where the urge to call her that comes from and it’s deep and it’s real and she is every bit deserving of it, but they are not ready for that place. He certainly isn’t. He knows he cares about Lydia. He thinks she is amazing and God’s gift to this earth. He knows he probably loves her. But he also knows that there is a difference between love and Love. He has seen Love and he knows that it can both complete you and destroy you.

“Claudia, Baby, I Love you. I Love you so, so much. You know that. Please come down. Please don’t leave us. I need you. Stiles needs you.”

Probably as juniors in high school they cannot be ready for that. Especially since, you know, they are literally fighting for their lives in between classes. So, believe it or not, Stiles is very okay with not acknowledging the whole thing.

(Of course, what he doesn’t know is that Lydia absolutely hears, every time. Even when they’ve found her in a trance, hearing Stiles call her “Baby” is what pulls her back. But she won’t, can’t, really, say anything. Because somehow she knows, she can feel, what it means. It means Love, not love. And Lydia is not sure Love exists. She’s not sure if she could ever trust it if it does. Not anymore.)

When they pull up to her house, Lydia lets go of his hand abruptly, as if she just realized she’d been holding it the whole way home. Stiles gets out with her and walks her to her door. He figures tonight has been traumatic enough that she won’t question it. She’s muttering good night and turning to step in side when he grabs her upper arm and pulls her into him one more time. She feels his sorrow and guilt as his arms wrap around her, and hers wrap around him in return. She feels how his sorrow and guilt is amplified by the relief that she, at least, is unharmed (physically). If Lydia weren’t so tuned into his every breath, she might have missed the feather-light press of his lips to her temple as he whispers “Stay safe, Baby.”

Lydia doesn't know if Love is real. If it is, she's fairly certain she's not capable of handling it.

But damn, she's pretty sure Stiles is.


End file.
